


Taxi

by Harmonica_Smile (Rescue_Remedy)



Series: Law's Hybrid Collections [6]
Category: One Piece
Genre: (Franky) - Freeform, (Sabo), (Ussop), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Background shipping (not main focus), Character Study, Cora is not alive, Each tagged character has their own vignette, Gen, Lawcentric, Light Grief, Mostly Stand Alone Chapters, Non-suicidal Law (likes living in his own Law way), Reflection, Taxi Driver Law, Unnamed but recognisable characters also appear (Luffy), complete for now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-08-27 11:18:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16701496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rescue_Remedy/pseuds/Harmonica_Smile
Summary: Doflamingo's dementia, Ace's narcolepsy, Cora's death. Law collects vinyl with warps and scratches,anddrives a taxi.Chapters can mostly be read stand alone.T for language.





	1. Taxi - 1

**Author's Note:**

> Starts out with a remembered scene from Jim Jarmusch’s “A Night on Earth.” But the whole fic is pretty tame, and doesn’t continue in the same vein (though there are allusions).

* * *

**Taxi**

* * *

That movie where the driver got all wide armed and wild mouthed, talked about fucking a pumpkin, moved onto a sheep and then his brother's wife. Killed the priest sitting in the back he was confessing to. Not on purpose. Heart attack. Law gnawed at the slightly calloused skin on the edge of his thumb, the other hand loose on the steering wheel. He'd watched that. Movie-goers probably thought it was make believe.

A bus way ahead stopped, its backlights glittering on the rain-sleeked roads, testament to the beauty of traffic. Prettier than fucking pumpkins anyway. Someone out there a long way from the cocoon of his car, someone was going about their business. Breathing. Alive. The wee beacons blinking as the bus turned the corner. People got on and off. Of course they were alive.

A pumpkin. A sheep. The sheep got sold to a butcher once the taxi-driver's father got wise to where his son's affection lay. Fuck, that was a funny movie. Because of the actor. The script. The fact it was true.

Business was slow. Law dawdled behind someone on their probationaries. Put enough space between them not to startle. One conscientious glance in the rearview could cause a beginner to bunny hop all over the road, and all that achieved was making a mediocre day bad. Law's resting bitch face was basically fuck off and die, so he kept his distance.

He recalled the redhead bumpkin who'd piled into his car, almost ripping the door off. He'd wanted to tell him it like, opened by itself. But folks always had something to prove. His legs were up to his ears, that one, his platforms almost in Law's eyes. Red flaming contacts.

Mudwomen. That's what they did in the redhead's town. They were lonely. The few women there wouldn't have them. What next? Law didn't want him, any passengers, to talk about cows. They had cows in the country, right? Let him not hear it.

So, that movie was kinda unique, cos the taxi-driver, like a bartender, was usually the confessor. Sins absorbed in the sweep of a cloth across a counter, in the decimal clack of the meter. If he drove rich folks, he'd be rolling in it — if he had a blackmailer's heart, rather than just a blackheart — but the well-off played things close to their chests.

He drove at night. Drove at any time. Just drove. Had not been suicidal since that time he'd been suicidal and he'd been ten. And maybe for part of that time after. But a man died to give him life — he patted the working kidney — and it'd be a waste to that memory to bump himself off. He just wasn't into it if he could help it.

He should be more, but he definitely saw it all. He let out a few puffs of air. Too warm to see it, but. Yup, still breathing, that was something. Not smoking. It seemed wise. He'd kicked that blond out for lighting up and refusing to put out the cigarette. Could have gone through the sob story of the compromised immune system, but, what the fuck? A little consideration, eh? It was his cab. His body. Buddy.

In that flick the priest had almost died when the pumpkin fucker had lit up, the loon was oblivious to the padre's distress, hacking away in the back. Bishop, he called him, like a chessboard piece, despite the priest's protestations. The blond had kicked the back of his chair, almost spearing Law against the steering wheel. Must've been having a bad day. At least he paid.

Cora smoked. His donor. His guardian. If he hadn't, perhaps the operation wouldn't have gone pear-shaped. There'd be no complications. Thin blood, arrhythmia, weak condition, some lopsided pulse they knew nothing about. He'd kept quiet about it. Some virulent strain of the hereafter laced his blood. He should dig out the records to find out exactly what happened.

Law wiped his hand over his face, all shadow and honeycomb as he zipped under the lights of the city. He turned the corner, down this street, past the souvlaki caravan, up along the edge of the park. The underground water system pumped out moisture to green the grass, even in those droughts they had, the summers that never ended.

It was cooler now, and he didn't need to move forward, to peel his back from the textured beads of his seat cover. Some hippy shit that guy with the beads around his neck had given him. It worked though, was good.

That one. He'd thought he was a goner. Picked him up, his hyperactive brother, and some blond steampunk thing with a steel pipe, from a rave. Their pupils flipping about like bearings in a pinball machine, hyped, and full of love. And then the beaded one had dropped back in his seat, mouth open, drooling. Wasn't wearing a shirt. Nice tatt. Whitebeard. Law'd seen a few of those around. Good crew. Paid up. Didn't try to fuck with him.

The blondie and hyper boy giggled and laughed and marvelled at the stars in the sky which were actually lamplights blurring past their unfocused eyes. Law had glanced into the back from the rear view, once, twice, thrice.

"Guys. Your brother, d'ya say?"

Like dogs at windows on a weekend excursion, the two slobbered all over the glass.

"Nah, like really. He alive?" Law readied his fingers over the direct connection to the office.

Then beady rose like a freaking mummy from a coffin, scaring the ever living fuck out of Law, though he worked not to show it.

"What the motherfuck is wrong with you?"

The hippy dude stretched out, laughed and crawled over into the front. Law tensed. They seemed cool enough guys, but you couldn't tell, and he didn't know what they'd taken. And those boots were workmen's boots. Sturdy, paint-splattered, steel-capped.

"Narcolepsy, man." Then he'd rested his head against the passenger's seat window and fallen asleep in a slightly more natural way.

Law didn't know why beady had given him the backrest. There'd been no more incidents after that. Drove the loll-tongued puppies and their slumbering charge home safely. They paid too much. He wouldn't take it all. How'd he tracked him down?

**oOOo**

"Nice hat."

Law touched the brim. Like the Whitebeard boy, it was part of him. Though that kid might have been doing a YMCA Village People night or something. That rag-taggle crew of three was decked out like a kindergartner's Hallowe'en party rehearsal run.

"Reminds me of a cow."

"Where to, Eustass?" The redhead was decked out like the teenaged version. Rehearsal.

"Trashy Tatties."

Law nodded, turned on the meter, pulled away.

"A very nice cow."

Law grimaced. Bovines were a little too sentient. He didn't think he could handle it. Farm boys.

"It wasn't like the mudwoman."

Law let out a sigh of relief and rattled his change counter to imitate business, to imitate being the captain of some other ship. It wasn't like the pumpkin. Or the sheep. Or the sister-in-law, he hoped. At least the brother's wife was one taboo closer to decent.

Eustass leant into the front, his coloured nails in Law's side vision.

"She was warm, you know. Loving."

"I don't want to know."

"We had her since she was a calf."

"Don't wanna know."

Eustass pushed Law's hat forward, but not so far he couldn't see the road. "She was pretty, like this hat. Sweet little poddy calf."

Law readjusted, and kept the car straight. Stopped at the red light.

"What do you think I did, Trafalgar?"

Law shrugged. No point in answering questions designed to burn.

Eustass flopped back in his seat as Law pressed the accelerator.

"You ever see that movie. There was that taxi driver? Confessing. Pumpkins, sheep, sister-in-law?"

Law cast a look back. Was this guy in his head?

"You get that, Trafalgar? Get priests you want to confess to?"

"No."

"Priests who want you to confess?" Eustass was searching through his pockets.

"Perhaps."

"And your sins?"

Not for Kid to know.

"Gone the strong silent type? Well, dunno about strong." The redhead folded a few notes in his hand, and now rearranged his glitter, tried lining up his lamé. This humidity, even the slightest touch, killed it.

Law grunted, pulled up outside the club. Some warehouse kinda deal. There was a queue, of course, outside the Trashy and the Tatty. That split-end blond this backwoods escapee hung around with waved at the car.

"I haven't needed mudwomen since—"

Last night, Law thought, counting out the change.

"Not like that. Wasn't like that. She was just a really nice cow and it felt really bad to eat her. But that's country living. Waste not, want not. Eh?" Kid's grin was wide. He'd helped carve her up. Who else was going to do it?

He slammed a few beris back into Law's hand and he didn't refuse them. Though Law didn't think much of the fingers that trailed his palm. He pulled his hand away, not loosening his grip on the money.

"Go on, hayseed. Enjoy the hoedown."

One thing about Eustass was he was more even-tempered than the smoking cook. At times. Law wasn't interested. Eustass didn't mind playing. Law didn't mind ignoring.

**oOOo**

"Hold up, hold up, hold up!"

Law almost wished for Kid to crawl back into the cab. The man leant in with a leer. "Your night's just gone from cow to worse."

Indeed, Law thought. That kid that was with beady and pipe the other night — one of the brothers also wearing a hat — tumbled into the cab. A curly haired stoner with him, and a bulked up steroid popper.

Kid sashayed away. Greeted a redhead chick in the line and pulled at the long, frayed hair of that blond. Blondy punched his upper arm.

The back of Law's chair copped a few kicks and thumps as rough and tumble settled himself in. All three piled into the back.

"Got your seatbelt on?" steroid popper asked. The one by the door clicked dutifully. A touch of tension left Law. A fine on him if they weren't strapped in, but some of them refused, and if he folded the seat down for whatever reason, the clasps snuggled away like surface-shy larvae.

"Hey Luff, I can't quite... like could you... it's just," the curly-headed guy waved near his seatbelt and the slot it should fit into, "all too hard."

The brother of that other one. Brother of the hat wearer who'd given him the seat back-massager, patted curly-hair on the cheek. "I gotcha." He clicked his seatbelt in and, before they could all go drooling at the windows again, Law guessed he better ask them their destination.

"That other place."

Uh-huh.

"Could you be more specific?"

"That other place in the other part of town."

Law pulled away with a flick of the indicator, and wondered, North, South, East?

"Which direction?"

"Let me call Zoro-bro and we'll let you know."

Law didn't understand the cacophony of cackles in the back, but didn't need to. The meter was ticking over, and they had the cash last time. Freckles. Beads. Hat. Back warmer. He'd given him his number. Law usually didn't keep them. They were frequently pressed into his hand.

The cat-hater never makes eye contact with the cat and felines find them non-threatening, so they jump up, dig in claws, settle on the mean person's lap. Law attracted a lot of cats. Made them feel at home, somehow. Thought there was more to him than there was. All he did was drive a cab. Even so, he'd kept that number.

He pulled out his phone.

" 'sup?"

"Taxi driver from the other night."

"Hey. How's it going? Still got the back-massager?"

"Yeah, thanks, it's good."

"Got some sheepskin seatbelt covers too, and steering wheel protectors."

"Uh huh. I've got your brother, and a curly headed guy and a pumped up thing, and they all say they wanna go to the other place in the other side of town, and they're none too clear about it."

Ah, Law had to lower the windows. Really. Fucking cystic fibrosis, low blood counts, asthma — smoke could set anything off. Anybody could have anything. How'd they know who they were travelling with? At least it was better and sweeter than tobacco.

"Man, it's freezing."

"Stop smoking in my cab."

The steroid boy spoke. "He's right. The sign's there. It's not nice."

"It's very nice," curly-hair said, exhaling.

"Not for everyone," Luff murmured, inhaled, nipped the end, and put the joint in a silver case to sit with its untouched partners.

"You still there, cabbie?"

Law turned back to the phone, to the road.

"Yeah. Where the fuck do they want to go?"

"Ah, drop them off where you picked us up the other night."

"You think I remember everything?"

"You don't remember me?"

"Remember you dying in the back of my cab."

"Ace is flirting," the curly-haired dude said, wiping his hand across his nose a few times as if trying to slap himself awake.

"Nah."

"Totally," said steroid, wondering if Law could press the buttons to make it a little less breezy.

What if he was, Law thought. Beady'd only fallen asleep.

"Drop in Down Drive."

Law put the coordinates into the GPS. "Thanks, man."

"Driver."

**oOOo**

She'd left a briefcase full of documents that carried some weight. Law only knew that, cos he watched her go over them as he drove along. Adroit. Adroit. Detroit. Meteorite. Marmite. Starlight. Vegemite.

"What're you pondering with that distracted gleam in your eyes, driver-san?"

Law's hat was low enough across his brow that he knew she couldn't see his eyes, and she'd only be able to see in reflection.

"Yeast products."

She laughed. More juniper than gin.

"Like thrush?"

Law smiled. Quick. Sharp.

"Guinness."

"The better of the two options," she said. That chuckle was dark ale.

Law pulled up outside of the sleek skyscraper she'd directed him toward, suits clicking over the even pavements. "Though one leads to the other."

She exited the taxi after paying. "Kinda knowledgeable for a driver."

"Like to keep up to date on fungi and fermentation." Thought about the kombucha in his kitchen.

"As one should." She tipped a hand to her brow, "Canesten's a pain." She straightened her skirt, and strode toward whoever she'd been paid to make disappear. He guessed. He looked at the briefcase. He might not want to mess with it if she really was a hired gun.

He'd clicked it open. She hadn't locked it. Rifled through. No identifying papers. He'd have to hand it in to the depot, but he was working day shift, and hadn't had lunch; that street was lined with trees, and there was a parking-meter with some time left.

He eased in. Pushed his seat back. Unwrapped the blue, black-dotted, furokishi Bepo had placed around the small lunch box. He'd packed it for him that morning. That bear took better care of him than he ever did of himself. He bit down on an onigiri with a fish roe centre, the red baubles popping in his mouth. The next was flavoured with in season bamboo shoots, and the last Bepo's own creation, octopus.

After finishing all in a few appreciative bites, and swilling down store bought barely tea, he packed everything neatly away, and grabbed the door handle. Time to stretch his legs, walk around the block, get a bit of vitamin D, loosen the kinks in his back.

A rap on the window. Passenger side.

Taxi drivers should be awake, alert, and Law was. He was kind of wired to be wired, even without coffee. He jumped. She slipped into the back seat of the cab.

"You came back for me?"

"Taking a break. How'd the assignment go?"

"As well it could."

She had no other bags. Smelt of something gone wrong for someone somewhere. Not for her. Efficient. Proficient. Complete.

"Airport." She drew the briefcase toward her, checked the contents, closed it sharply, left a hand on it.

"I'm not gonna wear anything for this?"

She patted his shoulder and the grip could have broken the bone.

"Nah. The fall guy's fallen. Plus, I like you."

It had a different ring to Eustass' declarations of love for his hat. For his calf. Ally or foe?

**oOOo**

Ah fuck, not this prick again. Out of all the taxis in all of the world he always requested his and if Law refused, smeared his reputation as a driver, like a child drawing with ketchup. No-one would request him until he let up. Law'd be left working the early morning shifts. Which is what he was doing when he picked up Ace and his brothers, Eustass and his crew.

He flounced into the car, feather's flying everywhere. Cora's brother.

"Ever get that thing dry-cleaned?" Law imagined the pink coat would fall apart under the process.

"Brat. Just drive."

"Where to?"

"Nowhere. Just want to tête-à-tête with my brother's charge."

"How long?"

"As long as it takes."

Doflamingo leant back into the seat, tapping his pointed shoe over his knee, some casual beat exclusive to his ears.

Law exhaled. Pushed back into his seat. At least he paid, at least there was that.

Sometimes he just sat and said nothing, but the man had height on Kid and more than that on Law. Yeah, he was genial with a pugilist's magnanimity. Things were fine as long as you followed the blow, didn't get further in the way, helped it land, hoped it wasn't on your own skin. Fight back and you were fought down.

But he'd provided. Before Cora'd died he'd provided. After he'd died, some experimentalist wacko herbalist candy-striper had taken Law in, and two other kids whose families never visited. Gone, he later found out. Both sets of parents. Crazy without fists was a whole lot easier to manage. Doflamingo couldn't bear to look at him back then.

He was maudlin today. Weeping into his gigantic palm. Trying to see if Law's neck cricked, if he tipped his head up, that hat back, and peered into the mirror. He knew he was. He couldn't resist.

"Why'd he have to die for you?"

Tough question. Law asked himself all the time. But they couldn't bring him back. He checked for oncoming traffic, turned onto the road leading out of the city.

"I told him not to."

They had the finest doctors Doflamingo could buy. It was just tough luck.

"Why'd he love you so much?"

And me so little, the man in the back thought. Illogical. But the heart trails the brain. Rosi _knew_ the risks he was taking, and he took them anyway.

"Lucky."

And ungrateful if Doffy was in the mood to say it.

Law pulled up beside the river. They always ended up here. Both men, ridiculously long-limbed, uncurled from the car. Doflamingo with a bow-legged sway, and Law like the curve of a lariat.

They plopped down on the peeling, rotting bench — old men with a habit of companionship they couldn't break, the slats digging into their backs, Law thinking of the seat massager. The tide was high, the river up to the bank, ducks killing time in the still water by the edge.

Doflamingo took his tattooed hand, a gesture of loss, though Law was still wary. The man could pummel him into the ground, but he'd let up on that as Law matured, filled out, stayed out of his way. As Doflamingo's loss adapted.

"This virus. This tattoo. It's like the one that took him?"

Law's eyes flicked to the tattoo on the back of his hand. shrugged. He didn't know. Looked more like a compass to him. They'd had this conversation again and again. Early onset dementia? He tried to look closer at the hulking man without giving Doflamingo any idea he was trying to examine him.

"When I'm feeling kinder, Law," and Doflamingo threaded his fingers through those of Cora's charge, he tipped their hands so Law's was on top, and his thumb ran over the H that was on Law's own thumb, "I think it's code. Death to viruses. Death to bacteria. Makes me feel better."

About Law surviving, he knew. About Cora being gone.

Death to all blights upon this earth. The compass steered him in the right direction. Kept him flightless. Grounded.

He let him. Let him hold his hand. He was old now. Broken. Not sorry. He'd done a lot of wrong. But Law knew if he missed anything, he missed his brother. He could give him that, and even if he couldn't, Doflamingo would demand it. Law's own grief never disappeared.

**oOOo**

"Hey."

Freckles. Ace. He wrenched open the front door and slid in next to Law. "To the manor."

Law laughed.

"Which one?"

"Yours?"

"Nah, I live in a dingy flat with a friend from uni days."

"You smart and all?"

"Unrealised potential. Fallen."

"Yeah. Interesting though, you taxi drivers."

Law turned to him, eyebrows raised.

"Yeah, well some of you are."

"Some."

"One."

"Where to, Portgas D. Ace?"

"Luffy tells me you've got that initial too."

"D for driver."

"D for deadbeats on our part." Ace laughed and leaned back into the seat. "Hey, you need another massager for this chair too."

Law lifted his chin in agreement, slight smile to his lips, put the car into gear and took off. He liked this guy.

"To the manor."

"Great!" Ace promptly tipped his head back and fell asleep, and Law had to lean across, one-handed, and fasten his seatbelt, eyes snapping up to the traffic, steering one-handed. Ace awoke with a start and grabbed Law's wrist.

"Whoa now. What you up to there? Fucking tickles."

"Buckling you in and wear a shirt."

"In for a wild ride?" Ace tried to get Law to look at him, but he was kinda keen on watching the road.

"Only if you don't let go of my arm. Two arms to drive, change gears, you know."

Ace shrugged and let go. There was a reason he was always taking cabs.

"You like the massager?"

Law shot him a look. "Yeah, really, makes my day a lot sweeter."

"Thought that was me."

Law's laugh was more than a breath of air. "That too."

" 'cept you don't see me every day."

"Guessing you're not made of money."

Ace flexed his triceps. Looked at either side approvingly. Hoped that Law took it in. Really, put on a shirt? The world would be much better off if everyone lost them. "I can send you a message if you like."

"Thought you did already." Law didn't know how many he'd received about massagers, and sheepskin deals, and cushioned soles. Enough to warm the whole taxi rank.

"Hah. I'm kinda forgetful. The narcolepsy."

Doflamingo's dementia, Ace's narcolepsy, Cora's death. Law collected vinyl with warps and scratches.

They wandered a little further out of the city, the same path he'd taken with Cora's brother. The houses a little more weatherboard, the streets more potholed. He turned the car onto a gravelled path the assassin had probably turned down a few times. If she were local.

"Your manor's hidden behind privet hedges and all that shit? Excluded and secluded?"

"It's got topiaries. One's shaped like a polar bear."

Law liked the way Ace sat back into an open-chested grin.

"A penguin," he continued.

Ace ran his thumb against the base of the beads nearest Law.

"And a whale."

"Cool."

Sure beat the city. Law pulled up, just behind the seat where he and Doflamingo had sat, the older man searching Law's hand for answers.

The bench was still rickety, weeds growing in between the gaps in the concrete that kept it cemented to the grass. It'd rot from the top down before the cement blocks left this earth, before the grass let go.

But it was a seat. There was the river and the sky. Ace whooped and leapt over the one sturdy plank and landed on the bench falling through. Ouch. Splinters in the arse. Was amazing it hadn't sunk under Doflamingo's weight the other day.

"Careful, you'll get tetanus." Law sat on the more solid end.

"Cabbies are prepared for all, right?"

Law nodded. He had a pretty good first aid kit. Ace struggled out, shuffled over, and sat near him. He had a few grazes.

"Where are the animals?"

Law never pointed them out to Doflamingo, but looked for them when they sat, one of them remembering Cora, the other avoiding the cloying hold of his brother by staring at the clouds, the mass of trees on the opposite riverbank.

"You got some imagination," said Ace. Seeing a change in weather, and a bushfire hazard. No bear, penguin or whale in sight in the clumps of white in the sky, or the waving branches over the water. He gazed down to the river. The tide out. "You think we could make mudwomen outta that sludge down there?"

Law turned to him. He and Eustass were friends?

"Like, y'know. When my friends and I were young and we were stuck in the middle of nowhere . . . "

"No." Law stood up

"What? A man has his urges. A boy. It's part of the growing process."

The bartender knew when to wipe the counter in silence, the taxi driver when to grunt. Taking the gift had been a mistake.

"But the real thing's better."

"Woman?"

Ace, now standing, draped an arm around Law. He stiffened, but he'd brought the Whitebeard out here.

"Man, woman. Love the one you're with."

"You ever get attached to those mudwomen?"

Ace paused, then laughed. "Nah, man. It was over in an instant, and you got your dick real dirty. Talk about fear of tetanus or whatever it is mud gives you. Fear of whatever else was lurking in the clay. Some scary creepy-crawlies used to slither out of the earth. Worms, leeches, mudskips. It kinda crushed the boner, y'know?"

"Why do it, then?"

"Sometimes the urge . . . mmm . . . feels  _so_  good at first."

Law exhaled. Did he know anyone normal? Attract them?

.

.

He leaves Ace while he makes a mudwoman for old time's sake. The kid's got his phone, and Law's left him some money for a cab.

**oOOo**

It wasn't an empty fare back to the city. It was always worth it to visit the river. He made enough. It was nice to chill in nature sometimes, if he'd just run into a few people who didn't want to live quite so closely to it.

Scraped ragged jeans, faded black t-shirt, green hair, one eye seared shut — trying to wave down the cab on the wrong side of the road. Law slowed the car down, lowered his window.

"You after a taxi?"

"Duh."

Law prickled.

"Going to the city or the river?"

"City."

"Get in."

The guy crossed the road and threw a few staves in the back. Law guessed he'd been hiking. Sneakers flat and not suited to it at all. Bottoms covered in mud.

Law pulled away, continued the way he'd been driving.

"Nah, man, the city's that way."

The guy jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

"No." Law pulled his hat down and kept going.

"Musta shifted it on me again."

"Happens."

"Luff told me to meet him in the city."

"When was that?"

"Dunno. We've seen a few suns, moons, stars, clouds in the blue sky."

Law wondered if he had the money to pay him. Even if he had, if he was a serial wallet misplacer. Good karma didn't pay his rent.

"You wandered away from one of the parties?"

"Nah. Meditation."

"Fair."

Wait? Who told him what?

"Who told you to meet them in the city?"

"Luff. Wears a strange hat, like yours. I mean, yours is strange. It's not like Luff's."

"Ace's brother?"

"You know Ace?"

"Hardly. Left him down the river making mudwomen."

Zoro grimaced and tapped on of the staves like some wise goat, surefooted on the highest crag. "He gets like that sometimes."

"Hmm. You must be Zoro."

He thumped another staff on the floor. Maybe he was trying to summon some kinda genie. "How'd you know that?"

"Talking about you getting lost the other day when I gave them a ride."

Third twig went thwacking somewhere in the back of his cab. It wasn't like it was Law's fault what others said. The passenger let them clatter to the ground. "Whatever. If Luffy'd followed the plan I wouldna been wandering around three days looking for food."

"You find some?"

"Wasabi sushi." A little old vendor outside of some rice fields was selling it on the side of the road. Speciality of the region and sure to make him stronger than anyone else.

"Any other toppings?"

"Nope. Just wasabi and vinegared rice."

"That why your hair's green?"

Zoro leant back on the chair, muddy sneakers over his cover. This guy wasn't worth it.

"I'm beat. Let me know when we hit town."

**oOOo**

It was always comfortable when the first division commander slid into the front seat. Whitebeard had done business with the Donquixote crew and, unlike the newer officers, he knew the younger Law, the younger Doflamingo and Cora, and the day the Family ground to a halt with Cora's death.

He'd visit the inventor's camp once Law couldn't go back and Doflamingo didn't want him. Those two other half-baked clowns tailing and trailing Law's every word. And that hunkering bear. He'd seen stranger things. He popped in just to see how the kid was doing. Was a vicious little thing when he'd first approached that gang, but they'd seen him soften with Cora, saw the clumsy fighter grow attached. The Whitebeards aided them, Pops aided them, in finding the best hospital, the best doctor. Doflamingo had more than enough contacts of course, but it never hurt to keep things diplomatic on occasion.

It was bad after Cora went. Doflamingo didn't care what he did, who he raided, who he flayed. Thirteen-year old Law was still recovering. If that massive man laid a hand on him at that stage, Law wouldn't see it through. The Whitebeards kept an eye out, and the kid had come from a family of doctors. He liked hearing about Marco's healing techniques. Was a quick learner.

Vinegar rose from the butcher-papered bundle on Marco's lap. Law salivated. Fat. Batter. Salt. Vinegar. Though Law always had his grilled. Doflamingo called him precious.

Marco freed a chip and fed him like a hungry seagull. Law smiled to the side. Ludicrous. Drove to the centre of town. Parked.

The door ripped open and the man swished in.

"You ever get that thing dry-cleaned?"

"As if you can talk, Marco the Phoenix, I've seen you have one outfit change in ten years. Not like our fashion plate here."

Doflamingo leant across and squeezed Law's shoulder with the same kind of intent the assassin had. What did he still fucking have to prove?

Marco tipped his head. Doflamingo sat back, that shit-stirring grin plastered on his face. Not maudlin today then. Mean. He opened his mouth and Marco threw a few chips his way, and like the mighty flamingo he was, he caught them and gulped them down no problem.

"You Whitebeards know how to treat someone right. I tried to teach this one manners, but he doesn't listen to anyone."

Law turned on the radio.

"The usual, Doflamingo?" Marco asked. Law didn't have to.

They drove out the city, past the beaten-up weatherboards, skilfully avoiding the potholes, the road sinking some more since the last rains. They didn't bother locking the car when they stepped out. The grass wet around and over their shoes, Doflamingo's ankles.

He took in the hole in the middle of the bench. "Looks like the old girl's finally had her day."

Marco sat down, Law beside him. Doflamingo shoved Law over and sandwiched him between them.

"Fuck, Doflamingo. Give me space."

"Marco'll fall into the hole, or I'll tumble off the edge."

That whine. Law struggled to get up. As if Doflamingo would tumble off anything. Succeeded. Sat on the concrete in front of Marco's legs, body leaning back into them.

He was a funny kid, Marco thought. Always had been. He tipped the hat slightly, and Law readjusted it like he had to in his day to day just from picking up passengers and being a taxi driver. He eyed the mudwomen lying on the beach like fish gutted at the time of winching them to the surface, the useless part discarded, the useful taken to the market, or in this case washed away. From water and rains, he hoped. Not use.

Marco spread the fish and chips on the space Law had vacated. Tore off some paper. Doled out the vinegared chips, picked up Law's grilled fish, squeezed some lemon and passed it down to him. Law took it with a nod of thanks. Ate his chips before the ducks thought they were interesting.

Doflamingo speared the two battered snappers he knew were his and finished them before Law even started tearing apart his flounder. He threw the chips in front of him, kinda parallel to Law so that any birds looking for a morsel might find a human at pecking level.

"Doflamingo," Marco warned, wiping the grease from his own fish from his chin.

"Died, Marco. He died."

"Yeah." Marco nodded. "Eat up, old man. Cora loved these fish, these chips, this rotting old bench, this river, you guys."

Loved the polar bear in the clouds, the penguin waddling through the bunched leaves masking the vineyard on the other side of the river, the orca swimming hidden in the bottomless depths of the river.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to do a Law/Ace, cos' I like the ship, but the fic wouldn't let me. Part of Law's back story has come out in a One Piece magazine, apparently. It's up on the Wiki, and you can find a translation [here](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1DvSuS4am9PWjVQ3PFExaacMIfsKNXmRTG0j0Y6dlWxU/edit), thanks very much! That's where all the stuff about the crazy inventor comes from. The link opens on part two, but just click to the menu on the side, and you can get to part one as well.
> 
> Another quiet piece. Doffy and Cora maybe having a healthier relationship. 
> 
> I watched the Robert Benigni section of Jim Jarmusch's _Night on Earth_ when I was thinking of writing a taxi driver AU (is that a thing?), and that's where all that opening scene comes from. As funny and disturbing as ever.


	2. Taxi - 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Law's driving the night shift and needs to keep awake. Sanji, Pudding?, Ace, background Cora.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Law, Sanji, Pudding?, Ace, background Cora.

* * *

**Taxi 2**

* * *

The caffeine gum just wasn't gonna cut it, nor the actual coffee. He eyed the disposable cups tucked into the garbage bag just to his side. Picked up his thermos, shook it, one hand lazy on the wheel. Yup. Still empty. Don't shake too hard. You'll break its innards.

Fuck Doflamingo making him work these graveyard shifts. Well, he wasn't really, but Law just hadn't felt like indulging his particular brand of lost-brother melancholy and guilt tripping barbs this week and had refused his booking. Yeah. He ran a hand up his face, tipping his hat, finger scratching his forehead like a crochet hook. Man. He never won. He should know by now.

He didn't mind the nightshift. Took it by choice at times. But he preferred it when it ended, at two a.m. not started at 11 p.m.. His jaw was sore from chewing. Wads of gum spat into tissue joined their brothers of refuse in the bag near his door. Had to keep the rest of the taxi clean. His leg brushed against it with a rustle.

Maybe he could pull over and snooze. Pull into the depot and have any potential earnings docked. They were anyway, working this stint. Got a trickle of customers.

He had trouble sleeping except when he had to stay awake. Couldn't go to the casino cos he'd be liable to pick up Doflamingo or Crocodile. Together they were unbearable, though Croc kept Doffy in line a bit. Plus, it'd defeat the purpose of refusing his booking in the first place.

He avoided the turn off to the gambling quarters and coasted past the restaurant district. It was too late. Too early. Ah no. That flame-mouthed cook was striding from his establishment and waving him down. The restaurant trade also finished late, and started early.  _Hello my insomniac brother_.

Law pulled up, keeping an eye on the cigarette the blond turned in his hand. Don't test him. At least this one let the door open, though Law had a mind to let him lift the handle and heave it to himself.

"Ah fuck, not you." The cook slid his long legs over the seat and rested back, elegant but exhausted. He opened a cigarette holder and placed the smoke within.

A small argument averted. Would have kept him awake though.

"Where to?"

"Don't you work days?"

"Sometimes."

"No-one else on the streets, so I guess you'll have to do."

"Propositioning me?"

Law jerked forward with the kick to the back of his seat.

"Hey, ease up."

"Take your mind out of the gutter."

Law watched the cook, Sanji he thought his name was from random conversations with Luffy and that oddball crew, remove the case and the cigarette again. Ready for when he fled the car. He hoped. "Where to?"

"You gonna follow me in?"

"You wish."

The blond flipped his fringe back, almost giving him a view of the other side of his face, all muted and shadowed from the rearview mirror anyway. He spat out an address across town. Doflamingo's way. Law put the car into gear and took off.

oOOo

They idled at the lights a little longer than they should and Sanji leant into the front, tapping Law's shoulder, indicating the colour change. Law's start was almost imperceptible, but Sanji homed in on it. The reaction of others, good and bad, could make or break a reputation in the restaurant trade. He spotted all the nuances.

Law hadn't dozed off, but spaced out. Wishing it was the other brother who'd called him, clumsy, wet, smoke-sodden feathers stinking up the back of his cab, feet pushed into the front. He'd pick him up any time.

"Wake up driver. I'm paying you to take me somewhere safely."

Law bit down on the inside of his cheek, to send a shock through his system and to keep himself in check.

"Talk to me," he growled.

A truck moved slowly up the road, brushes twirling, cleaning the gutters, the kerbs.

"Gotta report you for negligence?"

"Yeah, do that. I'll never get off these hours. You'll see me more often, and your sorry arse will be even more endangered."

"Stop making me sound like some exotic animal."

Law rolled his eyes.

"Why should I talk to you?"

"Prevents me from crashing the car."

"You let all your customers know stepping into this rattletrap is a death wish?" Sanji cast an eye around the cab. Bog standard. The risk was all in trusting the guy behind the wheel.

"Coffee's not working. Gum's lost its punch. The rank's got me on twelve hour shifts, and my circadian rhythm's all off base."

Sanji flicked his gaze over the credit-cards accepted sign. Yep, he had a card in every category. "You're not filling me with confidence."

"I'm not the gabby type, but you seem to be. Plus chefs know all about staggered sleep, right? Insult me. I won't fight you. Tell me your favourite recipe. Anything."

"You should engage too, don't you think? If you need to stay active."

"Yeah. Ask me some questions, limited to hobbies and world affairs."

Sanji was tired, and just wanted to fantasise about Nami. But he also wanted to live.

"Why're you working this roster?"

"Someone out there doesn't like me. Next."

"Why don't you ask me questions?"

"I value my remaining donated kidney."

"Are you fucked up?"

"Pretty much, yeah, next."

"What's your favorite meal?"

Law paused. It was for the smell of the vinegar, oil and salt. For the warmth, on a cold day, of the grease-soaked butcher paper wrapped around the meal, placed on the exposed legs of a boy not yet old enough to wear long pants. Sometimes it was too hot and he had to hold the bundle against his chest as Cora drove to the park.

"Fish and chips."

"Can't be good for the kidney."

"Have the fish grilled."

"Sacrilege ain't it?" Sanji fired up. Law stared back through the rear view at the click of the lighter.

"Not joking about the kidney."

Sanji faltered. Okay, maybe there'd been a reason beyond puritanism for this guy getting so shirty with him the first time round. He snuffed the flame with a snap of the cap. That stick was just about tobacco-spill-worn-through anyway.

"Tell me about it?" He put the cigarette case back in his pocket.

Law shook his head.

"How about the fish and chips?"

He could handle that.

"Left, right?"

"On the left. Got a few more lights to go."

Law cruised into the best lane.

"Can only eat a mouthful of the battered stuff. Usually steal a corner of my friend's, and then just stick to the grilled fish, and a few chips. I like the vinegar. Especially against rainy days."

"Childhood treat?"

"Yeah."

He could count on one hand the number of times he and Cora had gone to the park once the hospital date had been set, six months before. There was some time for indulgence before he had to go onto a stricter diet closer to the operation. He was small, but he wasn't young. A teenager. Thirteen. Not an adult, but he'd seen too much to be considered a child.

He just didn't like the batter, or only a tiny nibble. Coeliac, amongst everything else. Even that amount of batter was enough to hurt his stomach if he wasn't careful. The chips were okay though. They only visited shops that used separate oil for their chips.

Cora would rip off a soft layer from the middle of his fish, and there was no-one else there, and it was a little bit of fun for a cold, scared, boy to be fed like he fed the ducks. Only Law threw the chips to the quacking birds and occasional seagull, whereas Cora tipped his face from where it tried to bury its slightly greasy skin into the nominally less scungy feathered coat, and tapped the tiny bit of batter Law could tolerate, that he liked to have, onto his tongue with a laugh.

Doflamingo stuffing his mouth with a whole buttered bread roll just wasn't the same.

Law had been too old for it, but yeah, they imagined the whales that ploughed through the canals of the earth in order to create such a river. The white karate-kicking bear that was making the leaves rustle on the other side, and the penguins scuttling about in the undergrowth, searching for food to take home to their young ones. Never mind the microclimates so divergent from their natural habitats. Reality took a holiday when they went to the park.

Doflamingo joined them twice, and Law sat between them, closer to Cora. Cora didn't feed him then. Doflamingo was always looking for ways to level Law's allergy as just another facet of his pretentious, precocious, doctors' son personality. He rode him enough for having the fish grilled, but scoffing down the chips.

Law kept watch of Cora's nicotine stained fingers on those occasions. Pointing up to the current disrupting the trees, the surge of water embodying a mighty being, the push of wake on the opposite river bank propelling floppy, waddled-legged penguins home. Law's smile was private, but there, as he craned his face way up to see the flash of Cora's teeth behind that make-up.

Doflamingo had brought linen serviettes both times and they wiped off the oil once finished. Then Law took the hand of either man so he wasn't seen to favour one, and they all thought about but didn't mention the upcoming hospital stay.

Doffy always left the paper on the bench to be pecked at by scavengers and invaded by ants, but Cora was more dutiful, Law too. The tall blond scrunched them up and stuffed them in his backpack, while Law pulled out a waste bag to protect the insides of his own knapsack. He shook out the crumbs and batter and spare chips first, and the birds freewheeled before diving in. The geese scared them all away. Law too, and Doflamingo, watching from a safe distance near the car. Law out of breath from the short run. Though Cora stood there like some kind of mallard-whisperer.

"How 'bout you? You have a favourite?"

"What's the story behind yours? You don't look like a fast food guy. You'd need a regulated diet."

The car was stuck at another set of lights. This group took its own sweet time to change. He sometimes wondered if there was a crotchety old woman tucked away in a spindly house on top of some tower who decided who could proceed or not. He never got a green here. He'd asked at the depot. Others were luckier.

"At first recipients gotta be careful with the diet. I love fish. Not battered or deep fried, actually. Raw, grilled, or in a soup."

"With pasta?"

"Coeliac."

"Rice pasta. Quinoa pasta. Chia seed pasta. Chickpea pasta."

Law smiled. This guy was talking his language. Sanji didn't see it. "Rice-vermicelli's my jam, yeah. And you ever use shirataki —the konnyaku threads?"

"Ito konnyaku? Hell yeah, it's trendy."

"I know they're used traditionally for winter hot pots, but I really enjoy buying them dry and using them in soups or stir-fry."

"Healthy."

"Unh."

"But fish and chips are your favourite?"

"For reasons. And I grill my fish." And he liked catching up with Marco and the times he threw a chip or two his way. The man was his buffer against Doflamingo. Law wondered if he had a feeding fetish like that Luffy kid.

"Got a pasta dish I make from zucchini."

"Zoodles?" Law turned into Sanji's road. "Man, how do you stop them from going soggy?"

He pulled up outside of the manicured house Sanji had outlined.

"You'll just have to come to the Baratie and find out, if they ever let you out for good behaviour."

Law accepted the cash, Sanji indicating he should keep the change. "Yeah, might just do that." Bepo could do with a night away from Law's dietary restrictions, though they ate well, but never recklessly.

* * *

She wanted him to shut up and Law knew it wasn't comfortable when someone jabbered at you in another tongue, but it could kinda bolster confidence, depending upon how long you'd been in the country, when someone thought you were fluent enough to understand them.

Plus, you could play dumb. People confessed to all kind of stupid shit when they thought you couldn't understand. At first he couldn't, when he'd come to this part of town, this part of the country, this part of the world, shipped off to a new life by some aid organisation into the dubious arms of the Donquixote brothers. They were both multilingual, and Law spoke one of the more common languages floating about, but that didn't mean everyone did.

Kids at school sure couldn't. He didn't have a bunch of friends at his old school, but his classmates had just shrugged at his weird hobbies and they worked together on projects, sat next to him willingly. He was invited to parties, didn't always go. There was always a frog to disect, a book to read. He helped his parents with their experiments. Helped his sister, Lammy, with her disease. He wanted to help himself. It'd take him sooner rather than later too. Language was one more obstacle in the way of him making friends. He hadn't been the most approachable.

He tried to keep the questions easy. He just wanted to stay awake. He knew how annoying they were. But pretty harmless, he hoped, though he knew they could exile and other. The passenger was fluent enough to give him an address, to ask how much it might cost. Not brand new to the country then. But maybe not in it for as long as Law had been.

"Where are you from, originally?"

He recognised the panicked look, then the flattening of features to decide how many responses could sound like she was interacting before having to admit lack of comprehension.

"Where are you from?" Ruder. More personal, but probably heard so often it could be answered with ease. Delete the superfluous words. Lose all subtlety.

"East."

Oh. Law got that she didn't want to talk. He really did, but the road was kind of blurry ahead of him, and that wasn't a good thing. She'd probably report to her friends and family about the taxi driver who never shut up and if she put in a complaint, they'd think she was hallucinating.

"Sorry. I'm sleepy. This time of night. Chatting keeps me awake."

Blank stare. "How 'bout you? Are you from here?"

"North. Came here more than fifteen years ago now. You?"

"Last year."

"Ah."

Hers was a short trip. She'd disembarked from the overnight train, pulling into the station at 3 a.m., and it really was a seedy, grungy part of town that no-one wanted to hang around in for too long. Law met the train, but he didn't often take the cab down that way if no arrivals were due.

He'd placed three cases into the boot. She'd given him the address and off they went.

"You work here?"

"Yes."

"Whereabouts?" Taxi-drivers were known for trampling in where angels fear to tread. But Law knew from an early age to seek answers in information not given up, and to steer away from queries that could see him on the more unsavoury side of Doflamingo's business. He must have swallowed a Luffy pill.

"Baratie."

He filed that away for later.

"I'm a chocolatier."

Law whistled, impressed. Must take some skill.

"And you, taxi driver? This is your only job?"

"Yeah. Dropped outta college a long time ago."

"And now you work nights instead of interacting with folks in normal hours?"

"This week, yep. My daylight customers were a bit much. Got shunted to this shift."  _Interacted_? Baratie? He'd have to be careful with what he let slip.

"You upset your customers often?"

Law shook his head. Not much, no. They paid his wages. "Just one. It's personal."

"And yet, here you are telling me, a stranger."

"Apologies." Law pulled down his hat, still wearing it at this hour. They'd just think it was part of the uniform. He'd draw up alongside the next all night café he saw, and grab another hit of coffee. Fuck stirring up a gabfest in order to stay awake.

* * *

He was idling, or he thought he was, parked in a lot, or he thought he was, and hadn't he locked the doors? Obviously not.

Law startled awake with a snort as someone slid in beside him.

Beady guy. Known as Firefist, he'd told him, or a firefighter, or something. Was smelling a bit smoky.

"Ace."

"Get me home? The guys left without me."

Law glanced over. Ace was frazzled at the edges. Literally. "What kinda crew leaves one of their own behind?"

"Fell asleep." Ace tipped an arm behind his head, scratched at his back.

"Sabo the only one of you three brothers that knows what cold weather is?"

Ace laughed. "Keeps my nipples perky." He flexed his chest.

"Everyone all right?"

"Even saved the dog," and Ace fell asleep. Just like that. Dreaming of mudwomen. Lucky Ace didn't live too far from where Law had picked him up. Meant Law didn't have to yank his own head up and out of the Land of Nod at any point. He didn't want the Whitebeards against him, not to mention those brothers and their weird friends. Though most accidents happened within a few kilometres of home he reminded himself. He tapped a beat on the steering wheel like Doflamingo's heel flexing up and down on his thigh.

Law pulled up outside of the weatherboard shack the three shared, paint peeling. Turned out it was on the way to the river. It really wasn't much better than the digs he shared with Bepo, but had the advantage of a garden. He grew herbs on his balcony, kept an interest in medicinal properties from when he studied and for his own health. But to have a run of a yard like that, he almost drooled.

He shook Ace awake and the guy was at his throat in a flash and he understood why his crew had left him. He wasn't Doflamingo though. Having Ace's arm and hooked elbow pushing back his jaw, his neck, to breaking point roused him, but didn't tamp down the anger that flit across his eyes.

Steady breath. If Ace was like Doflamingo, there'd be banter before the bruising, if not like him, he might be more dangerous. That was saying something. Law wondered if he'd get his fare.

Ace's breath, Law's breath, the darkness of the cab crowded the firefighter's ears. The light just outside, the one sunflower that grew in their yard, ridiculously close to the footpath. Its bowed head tipping in a night breeze caught his attention. He grew aware of where he was, who he was with, and lowered his arm, his other hand easing Law's head down so it didn't drop suddenly. Law pushed it away, coughed. Opened a bottle of water and drank.

"Jesus, Law. Sorry." Ace sat back. He'd unbuckled in an easy motion when he'd gone in for the attack. He reached into his boot for some notes. "Don't do that, hey?"

"Didn't think I'd get another passenger with you lolled out in the front there, and don't know that you could've paid the fare if I waited till you woke." Cute as you are. As nice as it would be to have Ace sitting there while he cruised the city. "Didn't know you had a thing for strangulation, man."

Ace smiled. Sheepish. "You were pretty calm. Sure you don't have a thing for strangulation?"

Law took the cash, locked it away, rubbed the side of his neck. "Not one of my favoured pastimes, but my guardian's brother's grief got pretty physical at times. Panic fuelled him. If I stayed as calm as I could, sometimes there was a way out." Plus it drove Doffy fucking crazy. Not the best strategy for survival.

"You're not a small man."

"I was a small boy, and doesn't matter how old I am, compared to him, I'm a midget." Law's hands were crossed and casual on the steering wheel. Ace took in the tatts.

"Should introduce him to Sabo."

Law glanced at him. The kid was short, that's for sure, but he wasn't sure if that factored into attracting Doflamingo's fists.

"Talking about folk who've got a thing for choking . . ." Ace played with the glove box catch.

"It's locked against fiddle-fingers like you."

Ace laughed at the mum expression. "I got a Gramps. I'm strong. Can see you are too, but he punched us into next week as soon as look at us if we did something wrong. And with us three."

Law's teeth shone in the car. "Can imagine."

"Takes care of us though."

In their own way. They did. Was Law's generation going to be any better?

"You still see your guy?" Ace asked.

"He was my guardian's brother. He's a pain in the arse and dangerous as fuck at times, but losing Cora broke him. And Cora died because of me. Complicated, but I see him. I think my guardian'd want me to."

"Even if he knocks you about?"

"Doesn't happen now."

"If it did?"

Law doubted it, but he didn't say anything. He had taken Doflamingo's brother from him. He ran his fingers under his jaw. The skin would bruise.

"He's an old man, but I'm on late shift cos I didn't want to see him."

Ace figured it was a bit cold. He'd go into his brothers soon. "You look tired. Wanna crash?" He tipped his head toward the house.

Law faced him. He was tempted. "S'almost time to clock out. I'll see it through. Phone through a time to pick up the feathered bastard, and call it a night until the next time it's the only night I see."

"Doesn't make sense."

"Nah. I'm rooted."

Ace stepped out. "Take care." Poked his head through the window, door not quite closed. "Remember your mansion when you've got nothing else."

"Thanks." Law smiled down at the compasses on the back of his hands.

"Text me when you turn in. Don't want you driving up a kerb, okay?"

"Probably won't be able to sleep once I knock off."

"Text me until you do."

"You'll talk car-seat massagers until I fall asleep?"

"Should take all of two seconds."

Law laughed. Short gusts. Yeah, it probably would. He turned the key. "Say hi to your perverted brothers. In fact, this whole town is perverted, except for Bepo." Maybe Marco. Ace would know.

"Ah, Luff's pretty clueless."

"No interest in mudwomen?"

"It's you who's infatuated with those buxom ladies, Trafalgar."

"Threw me for a six."

Ace hit the roof of the car, slammed the door shut, and gave a flick of his fingers as Law pulled away. Looked at his phone. Battery was dead. Hoped the bastard made it back home safely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Thanks for reading**. Law and Ace still checking one another out, but not going anywhere. I think the mudwomen scarred Law for life. 
> 
> I'm not sure if Ace is a salesman who is also a volunteer firefighter, or a firefighter with a sideline in back massagers and other things that fell off the back of the truck. Will have to wait and see if the story progresses.


	3. Taxi - 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trafalgar Law excelled at doing the right thing the wrong way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Touch of very light referred to sexy times at the end. Last two paragraphs. You could probably stop just before them if it's not your thing. Not a shipping chapter.

* * *

**Taxi 3**

* * *

Across the years Law had taken advice he thought was solid and applied it incorrectly. He was too young to have receding gums but there was that stint for a week as a dental assistant for Belladonna. Whose idea had that been?

He ran a finger along his top gum. Wiped the saliva on his pants. Old wives' tales said a gap between the teeth meant money, but it also caught food. He could do without it. He grimaced at himself in the mirror behind the shade for a beat. Made him look kind of rockstar degenerate. And no nori stuck there this time. There was always an upside.

He indicated, waited for the old lady and her walking frame to cross the road, turned. Cruised, on the lookout for a fare.

He'd sat down at Belladonna's cheap metal desk and learnt the numbers corresponding to the type of tooth, how to fit bands, learnt that cement didn't apply just to buildings and walls, and the ways of brushing. The assistant did the books as well. The firm's ledgers made his fingers curl. It was just as well he'd decided not to take up that job cos any of Belladonna's patients sent to learn about aftercare from him would have receding gums by now. Even the eight-year-olds.

He thought brushing them somehow strengthened them. Who taught him that? Probably Cora. He had the dental hygiene sense of a four-pack-a-day smoker. Wasn't Doffy. His concern for gums went as far as rushing Law to the dentist to get smacked-out teeth reattached to them. Or he sent Diamante. Law couldn't remember. It wasn't a one off. Doffy was with him when they'd first met Belladonna. She was something else. Could be he'd learnt bad habits from her.

Doflamingo sweet-talked her, he recalled. Law lay on the chair, bib around his neck, the cleansing fountain running nearby. His tooth had sat in a glass of milk in Doflamingo's gigantic palm. Law bleeding. Blank-faced. Doffy's fingers were too big, and Law a bit wary of having them that close, to have him fit it back into the socket. Law's own hands shook in those days. He couldn't do it.

His gaze landed on his own fingers now. The only movement was deliberate, lifting them one after the other on the steering wheel. Gave them a stretch. H-T-A-E-D. He lifted his pinky. _La_ - _de_ - _dah_ , how are you today, little one? The middle finger of the other hand — all digits bar that one on the wheel — flipped off such airs from the underside. At least his hands were getting along nowadays, in their own way. The middle finger of the hoity-toity hand flipped off the slacker hand in retaliation. _Take that, bitch_.

He really should keep his eyes on the road.

Belladonna had flushed his mouth out and slipped the incisor back into place easily, then left him on the chair while Doffy spoke of holidays on tropical islands. She sat beside him commenting on a few snaps he had in his wallet.

Law was sixteen. He got off the chair, figuring she'd done all she was going to, but as he stood — to get back to the crazy inventor, or maybe to see if Marco could get him a ride home — she'd lifted her head and said he'd need a root canal.

"Of course," Doflamingo said, pulling a few notes from his wallet. "What's the damage?" They wandered to the reception to make an appointment and pay.

"He can work it off." Belladonna pulled down the schedule book. "I need an assistant." She smiled looking at the days and hours printed on the page. It wasn't directed Law's way. He slouched by the door.

"I'll make sure he gets to work on time." Doffy, smooth as a man who intended to spend Law's time for his own gain. He used his assets wisely.

"Good."

Law didn't fight it. He left them to make predator eyes at one another and slipped away. In those days he'd hoped to be a doctor, and the training, even if he was being used, couldn't hurt. He'd need that root canal anyway.

Marco and the crew had seen to it though. Whitebeard had his own doctors. Law went in for the week to see if there was anything to gain or learn, but mostly he came away with the incorrect way to brush teeth. Belladonna wasn't the most scrupulous. Law could see himself as the scapegoat for a malpractice suit. Doflamingo also showed too much interest in her tools of trade. Too much interest in Law understanding just how creatively they could be applied. Joker scared the fuck out of him in those days.

* * *

 

His phone lit up. A text from Ace.

— Law.

Ace knew who he was texting. Why'd he always use his name? Maybe voice to text.

— Pick up Gramps? From the physio?

Law activated voice recognition.

— Address? Time?

— Thanks, man.

Law waited. Drove. Eyed the petrol gauge. Waited. Sighed. These brothers.

He didn't want to lose his licence so the phone was hands-free. The assistant knew Ace's name by now, though it sometimes got it mixed up with base or basil if he used an eastern accent.

"Hey Law. What's up?"

"When and where should I collect the old man?"

"Message didn't go through?"

Law glanced at his notifications. "No."

"Two pm."

The clock read one forty-five.

"Small Field clinic. You know it? Near the bus station."

Yah. Law knew it.

"Got it."

Ace called out to someone nearby and hung up. Law turned the car around. Clicked on the engaged sign, and went back the way he'd come.

**oOOo**

Learning to walk. He'd always done that wrong too. Not the learning part, just the healthy walking part. Applying something that was correct in one situation incorrectly to another. Running. He gained strength after the operation and took up running. Someone'd told him he was landing on the heel, and that he'd hurt his knees that way. Landing mid-sole and rolling forward to the toe was ideal. It was the better strike for momentum and avoiding damage.

So his mental image for correct walking, the act of lifting the foot, raising it and coming down on it, was also to step onto the balls of the feet rather than heel to toe. He probably didn't walk that way, and was far too graceful to walk on his toes, but that was his understanding. Pretty shit for a rookie doctor, but he hadn't even got to the rookie stage at that time.

He'd done his knee in soon after he'd dropped out of university. He'd been driving cabs fulltime for about six months. The original gig was part-time to see him through his studies. It'd taken him forever to learn how to walk properly again. Man, thank god for Bepo. He couldn't put his foot to the accelerator. Wasn't able to bend it or put weight on it for the longest time, despite having kept fit, working out, lifting, doing core strength exercises, jogging. Ace wasn't the only one with abs, but it had been all that sitting down on the job.

They hadn't had much, he and Bepo. Law's savings. Whatever Cora had left him had helped him out when he was a kid. He was careful, but didn't have enough — cash or sense — to invest any of it. It was partly why the dental assistant position appealed on a survival level, and most of why he never completed his degree.

They'd scraped through on Bepo's stipend and casual wage, used up all of the little Law had saved, and he made a trickle of money on the side writing essays for kids of the rich folk up on the hill. It paid well but they were slow to settle bills and a pain in the arse to deal with.

Pooling resources meant they didn't have to rely on Doffy too much, cos he sure was generous in fits and starts, but there was always a catch, like Law having to be available to ferry him from A to B on Monday mornings for a month at precisely 2:15, whether Doffy himself was ready or not. Whether Law could do it or not. Free trips too of course. All on some future register of profit and loss.

Law pulled up outside of Little Fields. He'd used this same clinic. Ace had almost got the name right.

Ace's Gramps, he guessed, — Garp — tried to wrench the door open as soon as Law pulled up, and jumped back in pain. He wasn't wearing bandages, but he must've been getting the arm treated. Law activated the automatic door. The old man's bulking, far from skulking, shoulders took up nearly all the back seat.

"Ah-"

"You!"

Law's easy grip on the steering wheel tightened. These old men. Cora had some kind of attachment to them and Doflamingo avoided them.

They'd stolen his walking stick. Yes, them, the fuckers. They all had at least ten centimetres on him, so it's not like the cane suited their height. It was adjustable, but not that much. After his injury dragged on past the two week point, he'd caved in, counted out his pennies and got a cane. That knee just wouldn't bend.

Bepo was upset it wasn't a round top, gold-plated pimp staff, but whaddya do? Law had Don Quixote stamped all over him and had no need to fit the part even more.

Some loose-edged memory of another cane was part of that discussion. Of visiting his grandfather in the old country before the cities and towns, the whole nation, his family, fell victim to collateral damage and raging fires.

His dad's dad, his pop, shot some rabbits for the dogs on their evening walk. Later Law admired the walking stick resting against a bedroom wall, and wondered why the man needed it. He'd walked just fine just before. It was a beauty. Smooth wood. Two snakes—raised from the cane, carved from it —spiralled around the stick all the way to the base and up again.

That design matched his tatts and aesthetic, but money was finite, memories were seductive, and his failed doctor's sensibilities told him to get the lightweight, the sturdy, the strong. The adjustable. The foldable. Who knew it was as desirable to senile old men?

Canes leant to in the umbrella stand outside the physical therapy clinic. Too cumbersome and troublesome to have inside, too many of them. Though if one was absolutely needed there was no issue in bringing it. Even today he could see a gaggle of crutches and crooks as if there was a gathering of nursery rhyme weavers.

Law'd had the cane less than a month, and though it hurt his pride to walk with it, it hurt even more to walk without it. He'd exited the clinic, stiff-legged and achey, just in time to catch sight of two huge older men walking down the road, one limping. One limping and trying to walk with a cane. A cane which was too short for him. He turned to the umbrella box and back to the men. His cane.

"Oi!"

They ignored him. He  _couldn't_  run after them. He'd harm himself if he even tried.

"Oi! Old men!"

He stepped down the clinic's front step without thinking, onto the bad leg, and shouted in pain.

"Oi! Oi!"

They turned around momentarily, but an even older man was doddering up the road toward them, so they guessed they weren't being addressed, and returned to their conversation. What insolence. Some idiot yelling and gripping his knee, and not even looking where he was hurling conversation.

"That's my fucking cane! You . . . . Over there! Curly-haired shit." Law really doubted he could get home without it, and taxis actually picked him up if he had it. Usually they just drove on by, deciding there was something in his energy that was like oil to water, and it sure didn't gel with their cabs. Even when he covered his tatts. His colleagues thought it was funny.

"You with the fucked-up-leg! Man, I can't chase you. Bring back...give me back... that's _my_ fucking cane."

.

.

"You were the kid yelling at Kuzan on the street all those years ago. Got a mouth on you. Luckily Tsuru wasn't with us. She would've washed it clean."

Whoever the fuck that was. Law had thought his anger was gone, but the last thing he wanted was to give this old bloke a lift. Lucky for him he was Ace's grandfather, and Ace kind of spoke well of him.

.

.

Aokiji turned around with a wince. Funny he thought he'd left his walking stick at home that morning, but he must have forgotten it at the clinic the last time he'd visited. Stood to reason that's why he didn't grab it that morning. It felt a little off, but he was still getting used to this whole out-of-commission-due-to-injury thing. Probably just needed a little bit of tweaking.

Some black haired punk — was that Doflamingo's boy? — screaming at them from outside the clinic. If he had something to say should come up to them and say it instead of fitting like some toddler way out of arm's reach. Age before beauty, right? Couldn't he see he was indisposed? Wasn't that the loose cannon Rocinante had wasted his life on?

Aokiji stepped forward tenderly. No way of walking was the right one. He had better things to do with his life than to react to some turd who thought he could challenge them. What was he doing outside the clinic anyway? What racket was Doflamingo running now? He wouldn't shut up, so Aokiji turned again. With difficulty.

The boy had his arms folded over his chest and his face was dark with anger, and, what? A hint of hysteria edged his voice. Doflamingo wasn't known for collecting the sane ones, and the precinct kept an eye on that one with his knuckleduster prison tatts. Skirting the edge of all that was legal or not. It was only a matter of time.

"Oi, old man." Aokiji stopped the geriatric passing them. "Watch out for your cane." He waved his arm Law's way. "Doflamingo's sunk so low he's got his men stealing them." Typical that the brat, criminal, could squawk, but couldn't face them.

The man shook his head a few times, and Aokiji repeated his words a few times. The old man hawked a gob of phlegm into his handkerchief.

"Low's too good a word for it," he said, facing the doctor's. "Scum."

"Take care." It surprised Aokiji sometimes that the population usually let the weak and infirm alone, and at times helped them. There were exceptions to every rule though and one stood at the end of the road at this moment. He and Garp walked on, slowly — this injury was a bitch, and he was happy for the walking stick. Taxi drivers didn't explode when he asked them to drive the short distance to his home.

Law had wiped a shaking, hand over his face. Unbelievable. He was so pissed off. He turned toward the clinic. Maybe they'd have a contact for the tall guy or could call him. He hadn't even started to put one damaged leg incorrectly in front of the other when a blow to the back of his injured knee made it buckle in pain. Fuck. He'd never recover this way.

"Ojii-ya, the fuck?"

The geriatric was more agile than Law, and it wasn't the second blow that ushered Law right back inside onto the consultation table, braced up and injected with anti-inflammatories, but his effort to get away from him. He trod too heavily. Felt the pop that no-one could hear but himself, and despite his fitness, his youth, his general ability, it was another six months before he could begin to pay Bepo back, and the knee was sometimes sensitive, even now.

.

.

"Your friend lifted my cane," Law said simply. "I couldn't walk, had no money, and then you set that ancient terrier on me who kept harping that I was a low-lying thief."

Garp chewed crackers. Law ran a mental check that the portable vacuum was charged. All Garp could remember was that this kid swore a blue streak.

"That old man. The one you told whatever you did, slammed his own cane into my injury a few thousand times, and I fucked up my knee more trying to get away from him."

He flexed his toes in his sneakers just to make sure he could. The car surged a little.

Garp checked the driver's face at the sudden spurt to make sure he wasn't driving under the influence.

"It was reinjured so badly I couldn't walk home. Cane or no cane."  He'd sat in the waiting room scaring all the clients, not budging when the nurses urged him to, unless someone really needed his seat, but that was him, tatts or no tatts, glare or no glare.

He watched one mindless soap after the other, hopping through to the toilet when he couldn't hold on any longer. At least the clinic was set up in a way his house wasn't. He remained until Bepo finished classes to collect him.

They tried to give his friend a ticket for parking out front, and if Law had handled it they would have. The practice's staff had said it was an honest mistake and the cane would be returned, but who trusted him, the Don Quixote boy? There was organised theft of quality walking sticks and what goes around comes around. Let one of that bunch get their just deserts for once. It wasn't as if they didn't have a trillion ill-gotten goods to select from. Karma was a bitch.

Penguin got him some rugged mountain man staff which was nowhere near ergonomically ideal, but it did the job and no-one,  _no-one_  touched it. Might have been the symbols Law, Shachi, Penguin and Bepo scorched into the wood on a quiet autumn afternoon in the inventor's back yard. He was long gone, the house empty and falling down, the yard overgrown, the forest taking over. But they went back and paid respects sometimes, Shachi and Penguin matching his own slow pace at that time. A walking staff was impractical for most of the clinic's patients, and they probably mistook the designs for a gang affiliation.

.

.

Garp almost choked on his mouthful. "So that's what happened. Kuzan still laughs about having two identical canes, bar the height difference." He slapped his thigh in a way Law definitely couldn't have when he was down. "It was yours? That's what you were screeching about? Why didn't you say so? I'll get him to post it to you."

Law was tempted to turn on the radio. Six years ago and only now he gets the walking stick back?

"We figured the clinic would call us and when they didn't, what could we do?"

Law brushed his finger over the dial. "Contact the clinic? I didn't have a beri to my name. They dismissed my description even though it's not like you guys blend in."

Look who's talking, Garp thought. "Don't really know how Kuzan walked with it. The difference in height was obvious. No wonder he limped like crazy. He just thought he'd adjusted it incorrectly." Garp chewed some more, wiped crumbs down his jacket. "But you're that Don Quixote Kid, right?"

Law nodded. "Left when I was thirteen." Kicked out and kept on the periphery. "Cora was my guardian. Rocinante."

The one who died. "C'mon Kid. Let bygones be bygones. You stole it in the first place, right? Or Doflamingo's cronies did. You were lucky we didn't arrest you."

Law turned the dial to some cruddy country and western religious twang that he figured the old guy found as distasteful as the rest of them did. Though Law had a soft spot for the twang and doomed love affairs — it was the proselytising that left him bristling fire.

.

.

Ace tapped on the window. Law roused himself from his nap. Ace tapped the window with the cane. Of course he did. Law unlocked the door and the firefighter slipped in, leant across stick in hand, gave Law a half thought out kiss on the side of his lips — Law still yawning, waking — and clunked him in the head. Of course he did.

Law steadied the cane and edged it away from his eyes and placed his other hand on the side of Ace's face so it lined up more directly with his own. His lips widened a little more to encourage the guy to make his day brighter. He'd brushed his teeth, receding gums and all. Law smiled. Ace kissed into it.

The firefighter pulled back after a spell, still close enough for the exhalation through his nose to be felt on Law's upper lip. So quiet. He hoped Law never stopped wearing pirate hoops. He curled his fingers around the gold. The curves of his chest tattoo peeked out from the white, short-sleeved uniform. Law didn't always throw it on, but it looked damn good when he did. Said he had no love loss for monkey suits, but he hadn't seen Ace in his gear.

"He's still not forgiven."

Ace pulled away further and leant into the back, resting the cane on top of the seat. Law made a mental note to put it in the boot when he dropped him off.

"Not forgiven, your Gramps."

Ace settled into the passenger seat, drawing the belt across, as Law pulled out and merged with traffic.

"Don Quixote boy. You really steal it?"

" _Arghh!_ "

Ace jumped out of his skin as Law braked suddenly when the car in front stopped to turn. He never tailgated. Both men were thankful they were strapped in.

Traffic crawled ahead.

"I bought that with all I had, which was a shitload of nothing, and I couldn't work to get money to buy a new one. I couldn't fucking walk." He lowered the window a little. Who  _were_  the thieves?

"I should've gone back to Doffy. A thousand things I could have done for him behind a desk or knife and been well paid for without further crippling myself." If a Don Quixote executive was backing him, it wouldn't matter if he was sitting. Doffy had talked to him about the best surgeons, and wonder drugs, and how he could make his pain disappear overnight, but the price was always too high with him.

"I carry the blame for someone nicking my own property?" It wouldn't have surprised Law at the time if the old man or someone had brought charges against him. Ace said his grandfather was an ex-marine. If they'd come on board against him he'd have no choice but to get assistance from Doflamingo.

Ace recognised the red climbing Law's neck. He knew what it was like for folks to think you were who you came from, so he reached across and rested a hand on the arm, on the fist, changing gears.

"Sorry, man, yeah. It must have sucked."

Someone as ferocious and pretty as Law needing help and everyone withholding it due to his snarl, his apparent good health, due to his 'father'. The more Ace got to know him, the more relieved he was he'd had that crew he called the Hearts. The motley three of them. Homage to Cora.

"Gramps is unbelievable. Those old men. I'm glad Penguin could help you out, and you know," Ace cast a look into the back, "Kinda old-man-prissy, that cane."

Law glanced back, the stress in his shoulders lessening. Took Ace in for a second, the road ahead, before checking the mirror for the arsehole on his tail.

"You'll be shopping for incontinence nappies before you know it."

Law nodded. "What makes you think I don't wear them already. I pull some long shifts."

"Uh, cos I've seen what you keep under there." Ace stared at Trafalgar's work pants.

A smile crept across Law's face. "That cane made my life easier, but I felt so old."

"Testament to your stupid resilience they couldn't spot that, and maybe Aokiji has a thing for granny sticks so he kept it?"

"The tall guy?"

"They're all tall. The one with curly hair."

Hmm, Garp had called him something different. Law let his temper trickle away. It was years ago now. "Maybe." Smile gone, but face relaxed, he glanced at Ace. "Thanks."

Ace tilted his head. No worries.

Law pulled up at his work and Ace tapped at his empty boot. "I'll make it up to you later." Speaking of folks living from hand to mouth. Luffy sure ate a lot.

"Ace, you don't have to..."

Law didn't want to feel Ace was bartering affection for rides. If they were edging towards something beyond texts about car accessories; if kisses promised more than a quickie in the back of the cab on a deserted country road, (preparation was a bitch), he didn't want to cheapen it with trade.

"Nah, not like that, Law." And yes, the dumb gorgeous dark-haired fuck was taking in his glistening chest and his erect nipples for once.

"Did you oil yourself?" Law smiled.

Ace reddened.

"Isn't that dangerous around fire?"

"I wear fireproofs."

"And how about my seat covers?"

"I sold them to you, man. The oil wipes off, no problem."

Ace liked the glint in Law's eye. Law liked the hair under Ace's arms caught in the backlight as he hung on the open door.

Ace felt his debt had just increased.

"Tell me about it later," Law said and started the engine.

As the car pulled away, Ace walking into the station, he imagined being on his knees, if Law let him, that safety freak. Driving through the city with his lips around Law's cock, avoiding the gearstick, man. That one story he'd read where the woman lost her eye. Gruesome.

Maybe he'd wait until they could grab a bit of quiet on a country road, by that river, the moon spilling in as Law lay on his back talking all that crazy shit about familiars in the air and water, his hand in Ace's hair as he made up for past crimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fic finally let Law and Ace have some time together! Yay. The boys need a bit of affection. This fic is my New Year's gift to me, and thanks to [blueandie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueandie) for her interest in a story about Law and his walking stick. Hope you liked it! I have one more idea for this AU, but that's what I said last time, so I'll leave it marked incomplete this time.
> 
>  
> 
> **Thanks for reading.**


	4. Taxi - 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I come from there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rebecca, and a cameo from Robin.

* * *

**Taxi 4**

* * *

The ride took him to the airport, out along the faceless roads hiding faceless neighbourhoods. Though the tumble down world he inhabited now seemed to have a lower death count than the mansion grounds, it was easy to hide the punched-in fibro panels behind freeway concrete and plaster. Easy to tamp down any asbestos particles eroding their way to freedom and keep those suffering from having mined it contained before their claims hit the courts.

The mansion grounds were good for dead bodies, even if Doffy didn't usually dirty his own backyard. The hidden freeway neighbourhoods were resting grounds for the dying.

There were some nice gardens behind those barriers. People trying to make a living. Some fibro cladding was in one piece. Though you wouldn't know any of that zooming down the freeway. You'd just think people lived nowhere, and that habitation wasn't part of the habitat.

He'd driven the assassin to the airport. She'd asked for him specifically. She knew about the Don Quixote connection and ignored it, or didn't hold him to it. Law felt good around her. Relaxed. She didn't try to work the connection. Didn't disparage him. Complimented his tattoos rather than viewing him through the piss-riddled cells of juvie where he'd first penned the black and greys on his fingers. She didn't compliment those scratchings, just didn't mention them.

"How's your yeast exploration going?" she closed the cover to her tablet.

Law swallowed. Was she playing with him? Coming onto him? She was a beautiful, cool, woman, way above his league. If he liked women that way. Maybe he could make an exception? He'd have to ask Ace. Seek out Marco's approval, Bepo's unstinting support (he'd complimented his finger tatts).

"Strictly medicinal."

"Not in any way alcoholic?"

"And recreational."

"How about bread?"

Law pulled a face. "As much fun as statistics." Depending on the flour.

"Oh?" She was counting out a wad of money. Slats of sun crossed her face as they passed under a railroad bridge "Something makes me think you're all about beating the odds."

He smiled easily, but with relief. She liked seeing it. The mirrors could work for her too.

"You'll join me for a drink some day, driver san."

The confusion of departures, arrivals, terminals, of short and long term parking, loomed upon them before Law could answer.

He pulled into the taxi drop-off after waiting for a large woman and her ducklings, each wheeling a suitcase and sporting a backpack, to cross the road. He exited the car and removed the assassin's case from the boot. Pretty light. What was her weapon of choice?

"Threat or a promise? The drink?"

She took the case from him with thanks, and slipped him an extra tip.

"An invitation."

* * *

**oOOo**

* * *

He didn't have to wait long for a fare. The woman's scarf folded softly over her head and around her shoulders. Her duffel bag was black, suede, tasselled. Nice. Travel weariness settled around her like motes caught in the sun as she slid into the car.

Her jeans cost more than his weekly pay, hell — monthly— and her sneakers were scuffed and used in a way that hid or emphasised their one-of-a-kind design. Pretty cool. A red tonbo — dragonfly — from what he could see, stretched from the toe, its thorax and segmented body running along one side of the shoe, a blue chrysanthemum and pond reeds rising from the heel and undulating in the air below the insect.

"Got any luggage for the boot?"

She looked at him, confused. Slipped the duffel from her lap.

"Trunk, any bags for the trunk?" Codeswitching, all part of the job.

"No, it's fine. Just this one." She patted the suede. Fluent. Her vocabulary was just defined by region.

Law wore the short-sleeved taxi driver uniform. Didn't know why he kept pulling it on. He didn't really like it, and knew it would meet the approval of Garp, of that cane-stealing bastard, Aokiji, but uniforms saved time. Then again, ex-marines aside, there was a code, and he wasn't the best with an iron. Bepo was worse. Maybe Law liked the way Ace took his time unbuttoning it, the way his eye sought out the top curve of his chest ink.

The passenger looked around the cab, a little nervous. Her gaze landed on the tattoos. Law observing her from the mirror, looked down also. What was good for Ace wasn't good for everyone. He rearranged his driver's ID on the visor so she could see it clearly. There was another hanging in the back. "Where to?"

"Blind Corner Dojo." She handed Law a card. He viewed it. Turned it over. Handed it back. No way.

"Zoro's dojo?"

She nodded. This man knew him? Then again, Zoro wasn't exactly all smooth edges.

Law was curious. He pulled out of the bay, drove along the impersonal roads, wanted to use the taxi driver's custom of being a nosy arsehole.

"Where are you from?" she asked.

"Hmm?" He looked up, a little surprised. Pre-empted. Hardly got that question nowadays.

"You're not from here."

"I grew up here."

"Weren't born here."

"No." He fiddled with the buttons of the radio as always when white noise was less threatening than conversation. What had given him away?

"You had to leave a place?"

He looked over his shoulder for a second. The burning of his hometown was seared into his memory, but didn't scorch his every waking moment. Not now.

"Who are you, sister?"

She opened her bag. Rooted around for a bottle of water. Uncapped it and took a drink. She eased a foot out of one of the sneakers. Flexible, lithe. Some strength in the casual, well-kept body. Her feet didn't smell either. That was some achievement.

"Me too," she said. She wondered if the tattoos hid scars. "Had to leave a place."

"I see."

The road was hemming them in like a wall to keep them out, to separate them from everything that anyone ever wanted. The discards, broken toys, the displaced, were shovelled along the asphalt like coal into a furnace chute.

"Or we were kept from a place. Like this." She waved at the concrete zipping by. "My father and I were not allowed to participate in society. Wrong class. My mother was shot."

Law nodded. People told taxi drivers everything. They'd never see them again, right? Except he knew where she was going.

"Zoro helped me out. In the past."

Just like Doflamingo and Cora had helped him. He had an idea that Zoro's assistance might have had a few less long-lasting entanglements.

"Who shot her?" he asked, running his fingers back and forth on the wheel. He didn't need to ask if the wounds were fatal.

"New government." Her eyes were on the verge zipping past, dimming into evening.

"My father," she paused, "It almost destroyed him. He loved her." She wanted to see more than concrete, but the fastest way was the most sterile. She took in the stiff back in front of her, but didn't feel any crackle of anger. "You look like someone who understands the songs."

Law remembered. His father, the meetings, going with Lammy and his mother to buy the hot, flat bread, piles of it like pancakes. It was so easy to make, but she didn't have time. She was going to teach him one day. A different kind of flour. Didn't hurt his stomach.

The sickness that had almost taken Lammy, if the soldiers hadn't beaten the condition to it, was never far from the surface in those days. He remembered the words his dad had taught him before the Don Quixote brothers took him. His father had arranged for them to do so. The soldiers came soon after.

He saw the body, the death. His glasses shattered on the floor as he fell forward. Thinking at the time, how would his father see? He was blind without his glasses. Someone's hand over Law's mouth — Was it Cora? — holding him back. This woman was the same as him? Same as Law?

" _I have my own view,_ _And an extra blade of grass_." Smooth, the lines were loud enough to be heard from the back of the cab, but no dramatics, not shouting.

" _Mine is the moon at the far edge of the words,_ _And the bounty of birds_ ," she answered. The moon was now actually in the sky. An orange ball rising ahead of them. Both rested a beat before Law continued.

" _And the immortal olive tree._ _I walked this land before the swords_ …"

He had long shifts. Reciting the hope, the history, his father had taught him kept him near, and sure helped pass the time. Less fear in them than warnings and prayers. Kept his family close. Maybe his tatts were like the beads of a rosary, the stanzas of an ode.

" _Turned its living body into a laden table."_ The woman pushed her fringe up and settled the scarf over her head and shoulders. " _I come from there_."

"You come from there?" Law asked. He thought he was the only one left.

She shook her head. "Sorry." She'd heard the click of want. "But his words, those works." She looked out the window again. She knew Law knew how they crossed nations. The poet came from there, and his words went everywhere.

"Your father is?"

"Still alive. Things are good now."

Was Zoro a mercenary? How had he helped this woman out? Some kind of missionary?

"In body, mind and soul?"

She wished she could see the driver's face better. Only the dregs or the very wealthy marked themselves up in her society. Both had helped her. It was darker now. Maybe his voice told her more about him than anything.

" _The best days have yet to be lived_." Different wordsmith, same desire to see the sun shine freely. She wasn't sure though if the best was before her. It had always been warm in her mother's arms.

"Preach." Law loosened the back of his shirt from the seat, from Ace's massager. He wasn't sure though. The few scraps of photos Doflamingo and Cora somehow scavenged were all he had of his family. Festivals had been fun. Studying medicine with his parents had made him proud.

"My father was tortured. We all were. It was like a date to be locked up for the weekend, a week, a month. A real bitch if you'd already made other plans." She eyed the catches in the taxi. Lots of them were more like police cars. Nothing she could play with. "We sympathised with the previous government, rightly or wrongly. We were painted as scum, unstable, extremists."

Law jigsawed her story with his own. The infrastructure of Flevance had whittled away. The royals syphoned the riches made from the amber lead that was killing the population, then deserted the people, fleeing to hell knows the fuck where. Guess he wasn't the only survivor.

Reports trickled down in the society pages and he wondered which Flevance princess was keeping company with which World Government banker. Their fingers stained but never contaminated in the same way his people had been.

The white city was a place isolated even before the world allowed the army to invade. Before it sent the marines. His parents had planned for Lammy to go with him, even though she didn't have much time left.

"You're okay now?" That was a relative term and Law knew it.

The woman sipped on the water. "I had to fight. They made me. My mother was a pacifist and she never wanted me to raise a weapon against anyone. My father knew they'd hound him, be after him. He was one of the former leader's strongest men. They shot him so badly in one leg it had to be amputated."

"Fuckers." Law's hands were  _not_  tight on the steering wheel. Few things surprised him. Mudwomen, perhaps.

"Yeah, fuckers is right." She sat back and they rode in silence for a while. "But he taught me to fight, because he couldn't always be there, and when he was recovering he couldn't defend me."

"Taking care of yourself's an excellent skill to have." Law veered the car to the far lane as they approached the exit.

"You've had to do that?"

"Now and then."

She hesitated. She didn't often do this, but she'd been in enough kill or be killed situations to trust her judgement.

"I'm hungry."

"And?" She heard the smile.

"Let's eat. Show me where the good food is?"

"I've been here a while," Law said. "Since I was ten. Not too sure I know where the good food is."

"You didn't come with family?"

"No family."

Ah, she smoothed her jeans, hoped he'd had someone. "Let me show you then."

"You've been here before?"

"I know Zoro, remember?"

"He know where the good food is?" Law couldn't see it. He was all about keeping in top shape, so he knew where the healthy food was. Maybe it was synonymous.

"He doesn't care."

"It's on the clock?"

She'd noted that the white shirt was lightly stained under the arms, the collar fraying. Laziness, poverty, wear — it was hard to tell. "Yah, driver. I just want to talk, but I'll pay you for your time."

Law's neck burnt. "I wouldn't ask, but …"

"I've got it, and you've got to make a living."

"Right." If he didn't want to be dependent on Doflamingo, he had to keep at it.

She took him to a joint on the outskirts of town that served congee — rice porridge — with crullers, touches of ginger, little bowls of dried shallots, dried garlic, cut chili and a fish base.

"Thought you were going to fill me with food from the auld country?" Law looked around at the noisy families enjoying themselves, sharing dishes, taking extra care with servings for the babies. The lights above illuminated everything in their fluorescent practicality. He sat back against the plastic seat of the chair, long legs hitting the underside of the table as he tried to cross his knees.

"Nah, fuck that shit, too heavy."

Law laughed. She was one of those dames who knew how to spear delicate expectations with a word or two. And delicate? His arse. She'd seen more than most.

"And this isn't?"

"Different kind of comfort."

He'd take her to his favourite soup and noodle place if he ever saw her again. Though being coeliac, he was limited to healthy hippy noodle aficionados. It might not be authentic enough for her. Should invite Zoro.

She dipped her spoon into the soft, savoury, rice and slurped, her scarf tipped back over her head. Progressive where she was from, or perhaps a new habit for a new country, or perhaps he was as safe as a brother. And he was. If your brother wasn't Doflamingo. He sprinkled white pepper over top of the dish. Or maybe she just liked wearing scarves. It was a beautiful material. Sky blue. Matched that pink dye job in its own way.

Law had tea, she had a beer. Law was working. It was so easy to lose your license when you were a Don Quixote.

"They made me fight. The soldiers rounded up a group of us. We'd put out a small newsletter highlighting all that was perfect about the country  _if_  you remained within manicured lawns and shopping mall bubbles. We unearthed the foundations, built on the slums and silence of bullets lodged in protesters' skulls. Built on whisking the poor, the dissenters, the different, away in the dead of the night."

She spoke calmly but Law knew the fear. He watched her fingers curled around the beer for a tremble, a shake. She was steady as she sipped.

"They imprisoned pregnant rebels and took their babies after they gave birth. Then they drugged the women up and tipped them into the river. A bullet was too costly?"

Her rice was growing cold, but she dipped an occasional spoonful into it as she spoke, drawing it to her mouth, then returning it to the side of the bowl as story overpowered sustenance.

"The babies were orphaned out. Hardly anyone knew. Only the affected. Some parents knew their daughters had been pregnant before they were abducted. The government was so greedy for silence and compliance that enough of a percentage knew that something wasn't quite right. Not all of the rebels were from the despised classes. Not all of their families were despised."

Law poured her some tea, and tipped his head toward her bottle. Did she want another? She shook her head.

"I don't know why they didn't shoot me on the spot. The government propaganda said my class should be eradicated — we'd been well-off, related to the royal family, but it was a constitutional monarchy. The people ruled, as much as anyone can in this world."

**oOOo**

Megalomaniacs and governments are proverbial moths and flames. Rebecca's small island nation was no different. A law was changed here, a statute adjusted here, a few were demonised to control the many, until power rested in the hands of one man, the cronies he employed, and the scared people who breathed freedom while restricting others. To even fold the newspaper incorrectly and crease his face was an offence that brought jail time. Walking on grass, not being humble enough, being too humble, it didn't take much to attract the hysterical finger pointing of neighbours out to save their own necks.

Punishments were cruel. People killed themselves rather than kill others, but not all — the survival instinct is strong. If they failed, the correction was sufficiently barbaric for them to make sure they never failed or tried again. Suit something up enough and it becomes the new beige.

The regime disappeared swathes of population, but also made examples of dissenters. They put them in a fighting ring like Rome of old. They were warriors, after all, brave rebels who brought great shame to the wealthy and prosperous nation, or the old class who'd kept it oppressed. The final judgement was not the new government's, but that of the public, the plebeians, the plebs.

The people didn't know that the traitorous now fought with blunt swords against sharp-toothed animals and wild-edged malefactors goaded into savagery. Rebecca saw her friends, her allies in horror, throw themselves over the edge of the carts they were wheeled out on, and impale themselves on the spiked wheels, rather than be ripped apart, sliced up, or to have to do the same.

Not all of the clamour from the audience was uneasy. Bloodlust bred bloodthirstiness, and still Rebecca managed to outmanoeuvre her opponents so they were pierced by their own swords, so they fell into the moat surrounding the fighting arena, packed to the gills as it was with hungry, flesh-eating fish. She wished she were joking. The crowd's discontent with her grew as she failed to bleed and drew little gore from others. The water colouring pink was not the same as witnessing an actual disembowelment.

She was too good an attraction to sacrifice her to the beasts, so she fought and survived. The public needed someone to hate and the government offered her up. Better to spit on one who'd fallen low — on one thwarted in a plan to disrupt the peaceful island nation — than to turn their eyes to the government, lest it was their grandson, their daughter, who never returned home, who vanished in the middle of the night.

**oOOo**

The tea had been refilled three times. Law had forgotten about the clock, and ignored the messages coming in from the depot wanting him to go to this address and that. Yeah, he'd be put on the graveyard shift again, but what was new?

The families had wandered home and the couples wandered in, hands linked like pinky promises. Happy for the company of the other and the worlds they'd shape in the twisted sheets of a one-night stand, or maybe this one was something more, someone worth investing in. He knew the restaurant was cheap but it was good. That was a tick in his book of someone worth knowing. He mentally wished them well.

He walked back from the toilet, accessed via a corridor running parallel to the kitchen. This had been an old house at some stage — the toilet doors bought from a remainder shop, the paint thick and bumpy over past layers, bulbous door handles, the pine-green concrete floor. Clean, though. Functional.

"Zoro?" Law asked as he sat down.

"Should I call him?"

"Was he expecting you?"

"I didn't give him an exact time."

"It can wait." Law surveyed the table, empty of their bowls and implements. He'd ordered a fruit drink. Couldn't ride on the free tea forever. "I wasn't trying to urge you to your destination. Was just wondering how he came into the picture."

**oOOo**

It could take years, and deaths accumulated, and the ones who lost were lost for good, but the memories of the ones gone, the not knowing whether they were still breathing or not, encouraged brave mothers and grandmothers to hold silent vigil. The friends of the workers blackbirded into working long hours in farms and mines for everyone's gain but their own planned how they'd rescue their brethren.

Then word filtered through that the despot was sick, and mercenaries with the interests of their employers hovered on the edges, but some, very few, were closer to the mercy part of that word if the situation suited them. Rebecca knew it meant reward of course, but her mercenary had been merciful.

Zoro had apparently only wanted to go up against the crack skills of the team the regime engaged to crack skulls, and someone was paying him to do it. And, oh, he had a friend incarcerated along with Rebecca. He'd helped Zoro out when the wanderer had been stranded in the kingdom with an expired passport in more peaceful days.

The coup of the coup was a scurry of confusion and determination, and the regime had foolishly released her father, thinking he was too old to be a threat. Disparate groups piggybacked on scattered associations and somehow not one betrayed the other.

The blast that rocked the fighting amphitheatre, which was their bed, their prison, their life, took out a few of their own, but the guards had been called away to other flareups around the town that night, and the ones remaining were caught by surprise and dealt with. The cells were unlocked, and the prisoners, fit and savage due to having been savaged for so long, poured out. They knew where the weapons were kept, and knew which guards held the keys.

They fought their way out, the rest of the city also in chaos, the soft glow of fire lighting the sky in the distance. Of course there was a power vacuum, and those primed to step in were not as keen on keeping privilege in power by fear and coercion.

**oOOo**

"Make no mistake," Rebecca stood at the cash register with Law settling the bill, "A class system still exists."

"Is there any place where it doesn't?" Law opened a sweet from the bowl on the counter, popped it on his tongue, shoved the plastic cover in his pants' pocket.

"I know my family's better off than most, but I, we, my father and I, maintained our contacts with those who helped us and those we helped. There are councils now with representation for most groups, and we remember. The places of torture, the lives lost, museums now. They can't bring people back, but groups work towards them not being forgotten."

Towards aberrations not being forgotten, Law thought, pushing through the door. He wanted to remember his father, not how he died.

"Thank you for the meal."

"The conversation." She lifted her bag more comfortably on her shoulder as Law beeped the car open.

"You must be exhausted."

She nodded. She was. "But happy with a bellyful of rice."

It sounded like something Bepo might say. Once behind the wheel he asked her, "Did you lift your sword? On the final night?"

She dropped her head. Had shared too much.

"Sorry," he said.

"You ever hurt someone, Law?" After that conversation they were almost on middle name levels of familiarity.

"Yeah." You weren't part of the Don Quixote clan if you hadn't. She didn't follow the questioning further.

Manhandled. Anyone incarcerated, male or female, didn't escape, either from the guards or fellow inmates. There were a few she'd cut down, Zoro by her side. It was all the more surprising for them, all the more unexpected, because she was a defensive, clever fighter.

"But my father wanted me to honour my mother's vision and, truly, I did too. It was just that time." And they deserved it. But it didn't stop the violence except as an immediate rupturing, severing.

"Got a taste for combat, though. Or the engagement. I liked using my opponents' power against them. I don't feel that went against my mother's wishes, and it didn't sink me to the levels of the regime." It didn't mean she played up to the baying hyenas in the stands. 

Law knew these streets like the back of his hand. For whatever reason, that mad crew of brothers and hangers on thought he was the best at directing Zoro to where he thought he might like to go, and from where he would invariably be miles away from. He lived at the dojo. Law didn't know how he could lose his way to it. How did he manage day to day?

"You know how it is with the traditions of the old countries though," Rebecca said. She picked at a sesame seed caught between her teeth.

Law wasn't sure that he knew, but he'd tried to research what he could of his land and the rules were conservative and restrictive for some under those pretty, glittering layers of white.

"Women, the mothers, sisters, daughters, wives — we're all needed and important when it comes to smuggling weapons under our skirts, or sneaking secret messages to crucial sources, developing and nurturing our own assassins, but once peacetime rolls around it's  _get back to the kitchen_ , and waiting on men hand and foot, as if we had no wants or needs. As if we didn't just fight side by side."

What kind of fighter might Lammy have been? She'd probably keep everyone's spirits up. She was always cheerful, so trusting. She'd be able to handle a weapon.

"My father wanted me to learn 'womanly skills' to respect my mother. To give up all kinds of contact sports that could lead to battle. But I'm good. I'm good at using my opponent's power against them. I wanted to study aikido, to develop my skill in it. Zoro gave me a few rudimentary lessons, but my father forbade even that. He thinks it's protection, but it's just another prison."

"So here you are."

Law pulled up outside the dojo. A street light shone down on the white wall, and a branch of a tree left over from when the yard was a garden to play in peered over the top. Zoro had some help from his father to set this up, or maybe it was from helping out island nations. Law probably wouldn't ask.

"Here I am."

"Your father know you're here?"

She gathered up her bag and a fistful of notes. "Yeah. But he just thinks I'm visiting Zoro. It took all my powers to convince him to let me fly without an entourage."

Law could imagine it. His step-sister was hounded by Doflamingo's over-protective spies every time she went out. "Well, good luck with it," and he picked out the notes that would have covered the cost of the original fare if they hadn't had dinner and spoken into the night. Rebecca pushed more at him, and he refused.

He knew she was probably better equipped for any surprise attack than he ever would be, but he kept the engine running, and watched as she rang the bell, hoping to wake Zoro from whatever slumber he'd slipped into. Maybe he was expecting her. She just hadn't specified a time.

Law had directed her to the hidden side door that led to the sleeping and eating quarters. Zoro ran a meditation session there sometimes, and Law and Bepo dropped in from time to time. They'd brought Penguin and Shachi once, but one had let out a sneaky fart and the other kept dropping off to sleep. Never again.

The door slid open, and Zoro stuck his head out as Rebecca gestured to the car. He'd only started getting to know Law. He guessed he had some explaining to do as some stage. Zoro raised a hand, and Rebecca turned and waved. Law returned it, then pulled out and headed toward the next fare or getting chewed out from his boss. Whichever came first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The excerpt of the poem in the middle is from a Mahmoud Darwish poem, [_I Come From There_](https://www.poetrynook.com/poem/i-come-there), and the one line excerpt Rebecca goes on to quote is from [_24th September 1945_](http://mydailypoetryblog.tumblr.com/post/12578441221/24th-september-1945-by-nazim-hikmet-the-best), by Nazim (Nasim) Hikmet.
> 
> This chapter veers away from a straight AU, cos who knows what they were using to fight in that island nation, but swords came into it!
> 
> I guess I should retitle this work _Law's Reflective Taxi_. I don't really know if we get to see much of canon Law in it, but y'know, the guy's got a lot to ponder in his life.
> 
> I'm sure there are some continuity issues with previous chapters. Forgive me. It's ff. Thank you for reading. All feedback is appreciated.


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